


It Goes On

by veleda_k



Category: Cain Saga and Godchild
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 02:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veleda_k/pseuds/veleda_k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their encounter with Michaela, Cain needs some assurance. Riff has his own way of providing it. Shameless excuse for porn.</p><p>Title is from Robert Frost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Goes On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flipperland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipperland/gifts).



As far as Cain could tell, Michaela's poison had left no lingering effects. Riff had no dizzy spells, and no shortness of breath. From all appearances he was completely cured. Still, Cain was unable to put his fears to rest. Despite what he had said to Riff about getting back to work at once, an unknown, seemingly incurable toxin was nothing to take lightly. Perhaps there would be delayed symptoms that had yet to take effect. Perhaps there was internal damage that had yet to be seen. Cain didn't know, and he hated it. It galled him to be found lacking in his knowledge of _poisons_ of all things. With Riff's life on the line, it was no time for Cain to be learning a lesson on limitations.

Then there was the fact that Riff said it had been Cain's brother who had healed him. Cain didn't think the doctor had saved Riff out of the goodness of his heart. There had to be a catch somewhere. The fact that absolutely nothing unpleasant had happened so far only made Cain more nervous.

The simplest solution would have been to order Riff to take some time off and spend a few weeks in bed while Cain watched for any abnormalities. However, that was not a feasible option. Cain had learned early on that Riff did not want days off. Being unproductive made Riff depressed. He worried and fretted, and refused to relax for a second. Also, Cain knew that telling Riff to stop working ran the risk of hurting his feelings, if he felt that Cain was displeased or unsatisfied. He might worry that he was unneeded. It was all incredibly ridiculous, of course, but given the way that Riff put up with all of Cain's bizarre and frequently deadly eccentricities, the least Cain could do was tolerate a few irrational quirks, and not do anything that would only make Riff more unhappy.

Therefore, Cain came up with an alternate solution: Cain would lighten Riff's workload without mentioning it to Riff. He had some niggling doubts about the plan, but he dismissed them. He had to do something, after all.

At first it was as simple as taking the housekeeper, Mrs. Cotton, aside and explaining that as Riff was still convalescing, it would behoove her to ask members of the staff to take up a few of his duties for a short while. Mrs. Cotton clearly didn't like the idea of making such changes with Riff's approval, but she could hardly disobey the master of the house, so she agreed.

It quickly became clear that Cain's plan was not going to be as easy and simple as he had thought. If Riff was going to get anything resembling rest, he couldn't be coming and going at all hours of the night. Cain would have to cut down on the number of parties he attended, and he would to bring Riff along only when when necessary, rather than whenever he wanted company.

His diminished social life chaffed at Cain, so he wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved when one morning at breakfast Riff asked what Cain wished to wear to Sir Andrew's birthday party that night.

"I'm not sure whether I'll be going," Cain said airily, hiding his eagerness.

Riff frowned. "But you attend every year, sir. I've already sent word to Sir Andrew's household telling them to expect you."

"You shouldn't do such things without consulting me," Cain snapped. It wasn't a fair remark. Riff did plenty for Cain without asking first. Riff's ability to anticipate Cain's needs and to understand without being told was one of the many reasons he was so valuable. Not sure how to apologize, Cain sighed. "Very well then. I don't think I'll be needing you this evening though."

For a moment it looked like Riff might protest, but then he nodded stiffly, and when he said "Yes, my lord," he showed nothing but politeness and obedience.

The party that night was marvelous. The food was excellent, the wine even better, and all of the finest members of London's high society were in attendance. Cain, however, found himself preoccupied. He kept thinking about his conversation with Riff that morning. Had he upset Riff?

"Lord Cain, my friend, how are?"

Cain turned and saw Sir Andrew beaming at him. He smiled back. "I'm quite well, and you?"

"I'm fantastic. But I have to wonder if you're being honest with me. You've been nursing that same glass of wine all evening. Also, I'm told that Miss Emily Piers is quite upset that you haven't paid her any attention."

Cain shook his head. "Forgive me, I have a lot on my mind."

Sir Andrew grinned conspiratorially. "I know something that will capture your attention. You know that Lord Greenwald's second daughter, Laura, died recently?" Cain nodded. "Well, they buried her immediately. No wake, no funeral. And they wouldn't let anybody see the body." He gave a short laugh. "Ah! There's that gleam in your eye." He patted Cain on the shoulder. "Forgive me, I have other guests to attend to. Do tell me what you find."

Watching Sir Andrew go, the wheels began to turn in Cain's head. It all sounded delightfully sinister. A beautiful yet tragic young woman, a scheming family, a desperate cover up--it all had the makings of a grand mystery. The first step would be to dig up the body--which brought Cain's line of thinking to a halt. Digging up the body would require Riff. It would be exactly the kind of thing Cain was trying to keep Riff away from. Cain cursed internally. If Riff's well being was truly on the line, then Cain would have to let this opportunity pass him by. Logically, Cain knew that Riff was almost certainly well. He should go home and arrange for a trip to the graveyard. But then Cain remembered Riff so pail and sick, flailing in the bed. He couldn't bear to risk it. It appeared that poor Miss Laura Greenwald would never know justice.

After that, Cain was in no mood for festivities. Making his excuses, Cain left for home. Riff was there to greet him when he walked in the door.

"You're home early, sir," Riff commented as he took Cain's coat.

"It failed to amuse me," Cain replied brusquely. "I'm going to bed now."

Riff raised an eyebrow--Cain _never_ went to bed this early--but all he said was, "Of course, sir."

Cain made his way to his room, Riff slightly behind him. Once inside, he sat down on the bed. He looked up when he heard a soft click. Riff had locked the door behind him. As if there were nothing unusual about that, he knelt at Cain's feet and untied his shoelaces. "I heard that Miss Greenwald met a rather tragic end recently," Riff casually as he removed Cain's shoes.

Cain stiffened. "How do you know about?"

"I encountered her former maid while on an errand for Miss Merry."

"You left the house?" Cain demanded to know.

Riff looked up at Cain, his expression even. "Am I a prisoner here, sir?"

There was nothing accusatory or challenging in Riff's tone, but still Cain flinched. "Of course not," he said uncomfortably.

"I take it that you were already aware of Miss Greenwald's demise?" Riff asked as he started to unbutton Cain's shirt. Cain nodded. "Normally you would be eager to investigate." Cain rarely found himself at a loss for words, but at that moment he was. Riff stood up, Cain's shirt still half-unbuttoned. "My lord, what is going on here?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Cain answered, not meeting Riff's eyes.

"You hardly call on me, and you've taken my duties and given them to other servants. Yesterday I found William polishing the silver. The _silver_ , my lord. What if he had stolen it?"

"Did he?" Cain asked, idly curious.

"No, I counted it. Twice."

"No harm done then."

"That's not the point, sir. And now you're ready to ignore a mystery. My lord, please tell me if I've displeased you somehow."

"Of course you haven't!" Cain exclaimed, more forcefully than he meant to.

"Then what is it?"

Cain looked down. "You nearly died, Riff. You shouldn't push yourself."

Riff paused for several moments. The he put his hand to his temple. "My lord, that is ridiculous."

Cain bristled. "I'm concerned for you!"

Riff smiled at him gently. "I know, and I'm touched. But I want to serve you, and you're not letting me."

Cain met Riff's eyes. "I almost lost you."

Riff stroked Cain's cheek. "But you didn't. And you won't." Then he leaned down and kissed Cain passionately.

Cain responded fiercely, twisting his fingers in Riff's clothing until he thought the fabric would tear. "Riff, Riff, Riff," he murmured into Riff's mouth. Riff continued to unbutton Cain's shirt, briefly allowing his thumb to brush over Cain's nipple. Cain shuddered. "Is this why you locked the door?" he asked huskily.

"Possibly," Riff admitted as he finished the buttons on Cain's shirt.

"Very well planned." Cain shrugged off his shirt, then placed his hand of Riff's chest. "My turn." Slowly and deliberately, he removed Riff's clothing. His fingers lacked Riff's practiced fluidity, but what he lacked in style he made up for in eagerness. Coat, tie, and shirt were all removed and flung carelessly to the side.

Riff looked at his discarded clothing and frowned. "They'll wrinkle," he noted.

Cain rolled his eyes. "If you're thinking about wrinkles, then I'm doing something wrong." He slipped his fingers under Riff's waistband. "I'm planning on taking these off. They'll probably wrinkle as well. Shall I continue anyway?"

Riff swallowed hard. "Please."

Cain chuckled and began to languorously remove Riff's trousers. Once Riff was completely nude, Cain leaned back and admired his handiwork. "You're magnificent," he said as he trailed one hand down Riff's stomach, pausing to tangle his finger in the hair below. Bending down, he blew on Riff's cock, grinning as it twitched and Riff moaned. Cain gave a few experimental licks, taking in Riff's reaction. He frowned when Riff pushed him away gently and shook his head. "You want me to _stop_?" Cain asked incredulously. "Are you mad?"

"The oil," Riff said softly, his breathing heavy. "Get the oil." His voice was quiet and his manner proper, but it was unmistakably a command. A shiver went up Cain's spine. Only here, like this, could Riff give orders. Only like this would Cain obey. He went to the bottom dresser drawer, pushed aside some old clothes, and grabbed the bottle. When he returned to the bed, he saw that Riff had turned himself over and was lying on his stomach. "Riff?"

Riff looked at him and smiled. "Will you keep me waiting, my lord?"

Cain could be a gentle lover. Some of the women that he bedded required it, sweet, delicate things that they could be. But he couldn't be gentle with Riff. He was always too hungry, to desperate. "I'm not sure..."

Riff propped himself up and met Cain's eyes. "I'm not made of glass, my lord. I said I wouldn't break. Let's prove it together."

Cain studied Riff's face and realized that Riff wanted this, that he needed it as badly as Cain did, if not more. "All right." He set the oil on the bed and shimmied out of his pants. Sitting on the bed, he liberally coated his fingers with oil. Them he slid his fingers into Riff as slowly and carefully as he could bear. He allowed himself some time to explore, smirking as he hit the spot inside Riff that caused him to groan and twist with pleasure.

When Cain decided that Riff was prepared, he spread the oil over his cock. He moaned as he pushed inside Riff, thankful that none of the servants would be around this time of night. He forced himself to wait a few moments for Riff to get used to him, then he started to move. He thrust hard and fast, losing himself in the heat of Riff's body. He could see and feel his fingernails breaking the skin of Riff's back, but Riff didn't seem to mind or even notice.

Riff clearly had no interest in simply lying there while Cain moved. He arched himself up and moved in time with Cain's thrusts, rubbing his cock against the sheets. Riff, who was always quiet during sex, made no noise but soft, rapid panting. Cain, on the other hand, had to bite down on his hand to keep from crying out loudly enough to wake the whole household.

Cain felt the end welling up inside him, and he kept alternating between faster, eager for release, and slower, reluctant for it to end. He couldn't decide which he truly wanted. Finally, he couldn't hold back any longer, and he came inside Riff with a stifled wail. Collapsing on top of Riff's body, he gave himself a few seconds of rest before reaching under Riff and grasping his still hard cock. Cain gave it a few swift pumps, and Riff came as well, spilling out over the bed.

They lay like that for a while, sticky and entangled, until Cain rolled over and sighed. "There's not a single dry spot on these sheets," he said peevishly.

Riff sat up. "I can change them if you would like."

Cain shook his head as he looked around for his clothes. "No, but it's good to know that you're ready to work." He grinned wickedly. "We have an appointment at the graveyard. Miss Greenwald isn't going to dig herself up."

Riff smiled. "I'll get the shovel, sir."


End file.
